** The horror slumbers buried under many meters of rubble and desert sand. Nameless cartouches, desecrated relics, and a sarcophagus containing an ancient riddle. **
"Ancient lands lost in time.
Storms of sand, walls of lime
Surround this mask of de...
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"That..." Arabella muttered, staring at the picture. "Impossible..."
Nothing changed, no matter how she turned it around, squinted, or stepped back. In the dim darkness, a silhouette stood in the corridor's corner. An icy shiver crawled down her spine like a hundred bugs, making her fingertips as cold as ice. Arabella let go of the photo and leaned against the small table. She opened and closed her fingers several times, hoping to banish the cold from them. To no avail.
"I knew something was wrong," she gasped from her suddenly much too tight chest and ran her hand over her quivering lips. Her thoughts were racing, and although she was in the desert, they were tossed back and forth like a ship in roaring waves. Was it fate that she, of all people, had stumbled across something like this?
Nevertheless, doubts remained. Sometimes, your senses play tricks on you, or you could see development errors in photos of such old devices. Were these defects?
Her stomach felt like an unpleasantly buzzing wasp's nest. But she kept coming to the same conclusion: she must tell her uncle immediately!
Arabella's heart pounded wildly in her chest as she rushed out of the makeshift development area and hastily grabbed her overcoat. With the setting sun came the chill of night, settling over the desert like a veil. The temperature had dropped, and now she shivered, barely lifting the tent canvas to dash outside. She was so hurried that she only noticed the person on the path next to the tent when she almost ran into them.
She managed to slow down just in time and came to a stumbling halt before staring into the large, dark eyes of Mr. Kaphiri.
"Miss Redcliff!" he exclaimed, and a cloud of smells hit Arabella—smoke and fire, certainly from the fireplace where most of them were sitting together. There was also something spicy, presumably from the herbs in the cigarettes or the tobacco, as well as the heavy smell of alcohol, which overlaid the sound of his voice and made him slur slightly. "I thought you'd gone to bed already."
Arabella wrestled a perfunctory smile for the man with the hooked nose. "No, I..." she faltered, cleared her throat, and resumed. "I really need to speak to my uncle.
"Oh, of course," Mr. Kaphiri grabbed his neck and probably wanted to loosen his tie further. But it was already hanging askew and half-open in front of his chest. "I think he's in his tent. After that day..." he swallowed visibly harder, "there was much to talk about."
Arabella nodded curtly. "Thank you very much, Mr. Kaphiri."
"Tell me, miss, have you had a chance to develop the photos yet?"
The young woman blinked in irritation. She was confused that he was asking her about it. Her mind was elsewhere, and it took her a second to answer: "Actually, I have. That is, I started doing it."
"That's wonderful," he said and smiled. "May I look at the pictures too?"
Arabella didn't know why, but somehow, she had a funny feeling in her stomach, not just because there was no way he was allowed to see what was really in the photos. Especially not before she had told her uncle. But for him to ask her about it so soon after the accident ... somehow, it seemed strange to her.
